


you might think i’m crazy (all i want is you)

by symphony7inAmajor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Didn't Know They Were Dating, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Stargazing, kind of.., references to the sens being bad, they're dumb. and. soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphony7inAmajor/pseuds/symphony7inAmajor
Summary: It all started when they first met. The day Brock had introduced himself to Petey and brutally mispronounced Petey’s name. Petey had given him a mildly disdainful look, and that was it—Brock was in love.(from there, where else can you go but up?)





	you might think i’m crazy (all i want is you)

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little goofy... they're dumb and sweet and in love and that's all that matters.
> 
> me: uhh what's romantic. ah of course. stargazing. but wait all the places they'd be staying are in or around downtowns.
> 
> ottawa senators: exist basically in the woods 
> 
> me: excellent.
> 
> also i just kind of made up the time of this but then it turned out that the canucks WERE in ottawa in january. and since brock will be off his elc next season they won't be road roomies anymore, so let's say it's the 2018-19 season 
> 
> title from "you might think" by the cars (also one of the most Them songs i've ever heard. tell me i'm wrong i dare you)

Brock has enough self-awareness to realize that he’s being just a _ tiny _ bit overdramatic. Still, being overdramatic never killed anybody, so he’s not going to stop now. 

“Why doesn’t he _ like _ me?” he complains, dropping his head onto the table. “Ouch,” he says, much more quietly. He brings his arms up subtly to cushion his forehead. 

“He does like you,” Troy says, in the long-suffering voice of someone who has listened to the same sorry tale more than they would like. “Just because he’s not so—excitable about being friends as you are doesn’t mean he doesn’t _ like _ you.”

“Excitable?!” Brock raises his head long enough to scowl at Troy before hiding his face in his arms again.

Coolie noses at his knee under the table. Brock pats him on the head. _ Coolie _ is a good friend; _ he _ would be nice to Brock in his time of need. 

Brock tells Troy as much. 

“Ugh,” says Troy. “I hate you. I’m moving out.” 

“That’s what you said last time,” Brock reminds him, but his only answer is the sound of the front door slamming. 

Brock sighs glumly. He looks down at Coolie. 

“Do you think it’s my hair?” he asks, frightened by the very thought. 

Coolie woofs. 

“You’re right,” Brock agrees. “I’m sure it’s something else.”

Now all he has to figure out is what makes Petey not want to date him. 

* * *

It all started when they first met. The day Brock had introduced himself to Petey and brutally mispronounced Petey’s name. Petey had given him a mildly disdainful look, and that was it—Brock was in love.

Okay, maybe not that _ exact _ moment. There were a lot more slick goals, snarky comments and shirtless, post-shower nights on the road before Brock decided he was _ for real _ in love, but it was that first moment when Brock had known it would be inevitable.

Unfortunately, Petey is probably his best friend. Unfortunate, because Brock kind of really wants to hold his hand and kiss him and pet his hair and hold him while they fall asleep together, and that’s not something best friends do. Especially in their line of work. 

Pretty much everyone on the team knows about Brock’s teeny, tiny, life-consuming, itty-bitty crush at this point. Brock is honestly surprised that Petey himself hasn’t figured it out yet, because the rest of the team never wastes an opportunity to make fun of Brock about it. 

And—okay. The thing is, Brock knows Petey likes him, because he voluntarily spends time with Brock with minimal complaining, and, by his own admission, is his best friend. That makes everything even _ more _ frustrating.

If Petey just straight up disliked him, Brock wouldn’t still be so hung up on him—probably—and he could move on with his life. Or if it was just the fact that Petey’s not into guys, but that was cleared up one vaguely tipsy night in their hotel room when Petey had just kind of blurted it out while they’d been watching a movie, Brock had nodded wisely, and there had been a very touching bro hug. 

So.

Brock just wants Petey to, like, _ like-_like him. 

It’s all embarrassingly high school, as Bo never fails to remind him.

Brock tries not to let any of it bother him. If Petey really doesn’t want to be with him, he will graciously accept that, maybe get drunk and cry on Bo’s shoulder, and move on.

But the thing is, Brock has asked Petey out for dinner _ so _ many times, and Petey almost always says yes, but he doesn’t seem to realize that Brock is asking him on dates. He never expects anything fancy, usually asks if other guys are going to be there, and always goes home by himself.

Frankly, Brock is starting to wonder if Elias might just be oblivious to the whole thing.

Surely not.

* * *

“Have you thought about, you know, _ asking _ him?” Jake says one day. 

They’re at practice, and Brock is watching Petey run one-on-twos. Petey neatly evades the defence and gets a sweet goal on Thatcher. Petey smiles to himself, then catches Brock watching from down the ice and smiles even wider, making a face like _ did you see that? _

Brock sighs dreamily.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asks, remembering that Jake asked him a question. 

“God,” Jake says. “You really are insufferable.” 

“Hey, now—"

“I asked if you’ve thought about actually asking him out _ properly. _You know, using your words? Clarifying that you want to date him?”

“Uh,” says Brock. Now there’s an idea. 

Jake bonks his head repeatedly against the boards before climbing over to run his own drill.

Petey slides into the spot he leaves behind, bumping shoulders with Brock. 

“Is he okay?” Petey asks. His cheeks are flushed from exertion, eyes bright with the satisfaction of a good play. 

_ God, he’s amazing, _Brock thinks distractedly. “I don’t think we’ll ever know the answer to that,” Brock answers after too long. 

Petey doesn’t seem to notice Brock’s pause, only smiling and knocking their shoulders together again. It’s nice.

It’s the reason Brock is too nervous to make a real, official first move. Because if he does, and Petey says no, well—Brock doesn’t want to lose Petey completely. He’ll keep his friendship for as long as he can.

Being best friends with Petey is infinitely better than no Petey at all, even if he can’t help himself from wanting more. 

* * *

The constant, nagging voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Bo can’t stop him from thinking what would happen if he asked properly and Petey said _ yes. _

It’s infuriatingly reasonable.

Brock usually refutes that idea by answering it with the worst case scenario of Petey saying _ no, _ refusing to be his friend anymore, and requesting a trade. Like, would Petey really, actually do that? Probably not. Does Brock think about it too much anyway? Yes.

That argument usually ends up going in circles until Brock has a headache.

Besides, slightly over-the-top flirting for plausible deniability and longing stares when Petey isn’t looking are totally sensible ways to cope. Petey hasn’t said anything about the flirting—probably because Brock is always pretty affectionate with his friends, so not too much reason to be suspicious there—and as long as he doesn’t catch Brock staring at him with hearts in his eyes, then Brock is totally fine with the whole _ yearning _ thing. He’s practically a pro.

Basically, Brock figures he can take Petey on stealth-dates until Petey catches on and then _ he _ can make a move. That plan hasn’t been going so well.

* * *

The minute they get to the hotel after the game, Petey changes out of his sweat and into some gray sweatpants. Brock looks the other way while trying to unbutton his shirt with unsteady fingers.

“Hey,” Petey says unexpectedly.

Brock glances over, pulling on a T-shirt. Seeing Petey still without a shirt on, he carefully tugs his shirt into place to give himself something to do. 

“What’s up?” Brock says. He unbuckles his belt, trying to be smooth about it. The last thing he needs right now are fumbling hands. 

“Uh,” Petey says. 

Brock frowns at him, confused to see him looking away. He pulls his belt out of its loops and drops it onto his suitcase.

“Petey?”

“I forgot a sweater,” Petey blurts. “Do you have one I can borrow?” He looks awfully embarrassed.

“Yeah, sure,” Brock says. He’s not really sure why Petey is so embarrassed—everyone forgets to pack something once in a while.

Brock has an old hoodie in his suitcase from his first year with the Canucks. It has his number stitched on the front. Lying to himself, Brock tells himself it’ll be fine and hands it over.

Their fingers brush as Petey takes the hoodie from him. In the split second of contact, Brock notices the warmth of Petey’s skin, the roughness of his calluses, and the softness of his touch. Brock feels like he’s just received a static shock, only with a lot more fluttery feelings in his stomach.

“Thanks,” Petey murmurs, then he pulls the hoodie over his head and Brock’s life gets about a hundred times worse. 

The hoodie is a little too big on Petey, because even though he’s a bit taller than Brock, his narrower shoulders don’t fill out the sweater the same way. Petey’s hair is rumpled, sticking up in places that Brock abruptly wants to get his hands on. The bold _ 6 _ over his heart shows more than the ill fit of the hoodie that it belongs to someone else.

Brock feels like if he tries to speak he’ll just squeak like one of Coolie’s toys. He clears his throat. 

“Lookin’ good,” he says, like an idiot. “I’m gonna, uh. Shower,” he adds, and skedaddles before Petey can say anything.

* * *

Petey comes over for a movie night, one day. Troy’s out—he told Brock that under no uncertain terms did he want to be around any more “longing stares,” and “wishful sighs.” Fair enough, probably.

Brock microwaves popcorn while Petey looks at him with vague disapproval from his place on the couch. Brock ignores him. He knows Petey will still steal from his bowl.

The movie’s been on for about ten minutes when Petey moves from his end of the couch to right beside Brock, one hand reaching for the popcorn.

“Excuse you,” Brock says, catching his wrist before he can get into the bowl. “What happened to ‘it’s not on the diet plan, Brock,’ ‘you’re going to get in trouble, Brock,’ huh?”

Petey frowns at him. Brock realizes with a start that their faces are, like, _ very _ close together. Too close. Close enough that if either of them moved forward just a couple inches, they’d be kissing. Close enough that Brock is thinking about doing it.

He tries very hard not to look at Petey’s mouth, fails, and lets go of his wrist.

Even the _ crunch _ of Petey eating his popcorn sounds smug.

After the popcorn is finished and the bowl set aside, Petey doesn’t move away, still close enough that Brock can feel his body heat beside him.

_ Fuck it, _Brock thinks. He wraps an arm around Petey’s shoulders and pulls him closer. Caught by surprise, Petey goes easily.

“Brock, what—" he starts, stiffening in confusion.

“I’m cold,” Brock lies. 

_ So get a blanket, _Petey doesn’t say. 

“Okay,” Petey says, unexpectedly agreeable. He shrugs, then burrows closer against Brock’s side.

Brock feels much, much warmer. He has a feeling it’s mostly not because of Petey’s body heat.

* * *

Sometimes, Brock tries out spontaneous, romantic ideas in hopes that Petey will be so charmed that he’ll immediately realize his undying love for Brock. Or something. 

“It’s January,” says Petey.

“Yes,” agrees Brock.

“In _ Ottawa,” _says Petey, with much more emphasis. 

“Yes,” agrees Brock, because it is. 

“Then why do you want to ‘go for a walk!’?” He even uses finger quotes. Brock adores him.

“It’s nighttime the middle of winter in one of the coldest cities we ever play in,” Brock agrees. “That’s why it’s the best time to go for a walk.”

Petey stares at him.

“Brock,” he says patiently, “you just listed every reason why we _ shouldn’t.” _

“Oh, come on, Petey.” Brock spreads his hands out cajolingly. “There’ll be nobody else out. What other hockey city can you go out for a walk in without the hassle of being downtown?”

“Usually more enthusiastic ones,” Petey mutters, and Brock can’t help his snort.

“It’s _ Ottawa,” _Brock reminds him. “Have some sympathy for the people, bud.”

Elias rolls his eyes. 

“Fine,” he says, sighing. He gets up and looks around for his coat. He holds up a finger. “But we come back before I freeze to death, deal?”

“Big baby,” Brock teases. “You’re Swedish. You can handle the cold.”

“Twenty below zero,” Petey informs him as they step out the door. “I will not come back for you if you freeze and die. Sorry.” He doesn’t _ sound _sorry.

“I’m from Minnesota,” Brock grumbles, but the second the freezing air hits him when they step outside, Brock regrets his decision. He’s not going to _ admit _ it, obviously—Petey’s already looking at him expectantly. Brock sets his teeth and keeps walking. 

Petey seems to realize that, tightening his scarf with a grim look on his face. He stuffs his gloved hands into his pockets. He may have complained before, but he’s sure as hell not going to admit that he’s too cold either.

Hockey players are stubborn like that.

Still, it is a beautiful night—albeit freezing—and Brock tries to ignore the cold to pay more attention to the _ moment. _

It’s almost completely quiet this far outside the city, the distant hum of the highway the only sound apart from the occasional nearby car and the crunch of their boots on the frozen sidewalks. There’s not really anything to do—even on a good day, there’s not much to do when they come to Ottawa, and it’s far from an afternoon downtown. Any shops they pass are dark, a number of the streetlights burnt out. 

It’s kind of spooky. Brock shivers, only partly from cold.

He tilts his head back, letting out a deep breath. As the fog of his breathing fades, Brock notices something unexpected.

“Petey,” he says softly. “Look.” He glances over at Petey to make sure he’s looking up at the stars.

Okay, so the stars aren’t the most impressive—Brock gets a better view at the lake—but it’s a hell of a lot better than they ever see in Vancouver, where, between the ever-present cloud cover and the light pollution, Brock counts himself lucky when he sees the moon.

It helps that the lights of the city core are so far away, Brock figures with an amused sort of smile.

“Do you see it?” Petey asks. “Orion’s belt?” He’s pointing up at the sky.

“Uh huh,” Brock agrees, staring at Petey. A breeze rattles the branches of the bare trees lining the streets, sending powdered snow into the air. It falls slowly, fluttering around them and catching the light from an orange streetlight. 

Petey’s still looking at the sky, a delighted expression on his face. Brock feels like lying down on the sidewalk and letting himself freeze to death. Maybe that would be less painful than the stupid achey feeling in his chest right now.

“We should head back,” Brock says, trying to ignore the disappointment on Petey’s face. “We’ll miss curfew if we don’t go soon.”

“Okay,” Petey says, and he falls into step beside Brock while they walk back to the hotel. 

Brock brushes the back of his hand against his, and doesn’t bother pretending he did it by mistake.

As is usually the case with Brock’s spontaneous and romantic ideas, Petey doesn’t declare his love for Brock in the elevator, doesn’t kiss him when they’re back in the hotel room, and doesn’t tackle him onto a bed either. It’s disappointing, honestly, but Brock is used to disappointment. 

Getting to see Petey pink-cheeked and rumpled from the cold isn’t a bad deal, though. 

They both change into their sleeping clothes and go to bed. 

Brock buries his face in the pillow and contemplates screaming into it. Petey would be concerned, though, so he doesn’t.

“Brock?” Petey whispers, the sound cutting through the darkness of the room.

Brock removes his face from the pillow. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m cold,” Petey says. He sounds like it, too, his voice tense and almost miserable.

Brock considers his options. He could give Petey one of his blankets, but then _ he’d _ be cold. He could turn up the thermostat in the room, but then they’d both wake up sweaty and overheated at, like, three in the morning. He grimly considers his final option as the only logical outcome, and rolls out of bed.

It takes about two steps to cross to Petey’s bed, then he’s crawling under the covers beside him.

“Move over,” he says. “Make some room, buddy, I can’t warm you up if I fall on the floor.”

Petey, apparently too surprised to make a snarky comment, shifts over in silence. As soon as he’s made sufficient space, Brock lies down and throws an arm around him.

He _ is _ cold, that much is true. He can feel goosebumps on Petey’s skin when he rubs a hand up and down his arm to warm him up, and Petey shivers when Brock tugs him closer. 

“Sorry I froze you,” Brock mumbles. He sniffs, subtly taking in the scent of Petey’s shampoo.

“It’s okay,” Petey answers sleepily. “I’m glad we went.”

Maybe if this were a romance novel or something, this would be the part where Petey rolls over to kiss Brock sweetly. 

It isn’t, though, and they both just played a full game and then went for a walk in the cold. They’re _ tired. _

Brock falls asleep between one breath and the next, thumb rubbing absent circles against Petey’s ribs. 

* * *

Brock is a bit concerned that Troy is going to actually break and punch him this time. 

“I’m sorry,” Troy says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Run that by me again.”

“We went for a walk, looked at the stars, then came back and he said he was cold so we slept together,” Brock recites dutifully. 

“You slept together,” Troy says flatly. “You—“

_ “Slept,” _ Brock interrupts. “That’s all.”

“And you didn’t make your move?!” Troy runs a hand through his hair. “Bro.”

_ “Bro,” _Brock says, “creepy much?”

“Hmm.” Troy looks considering. “Okay, maybe that would’ve been a little creepy, but don’t you think this is getting out of control?”

“I mean—" Brock hesitates. “I don’t know what else I can do about it. I’ve already taken him on dates, I cuddle him when we watch movies, I took him on a walk and we stargazed together, _ and _ I basically spooned him all night.” Brock ticks off each thing on his fingers. 

“And how much of that did you _ tell _ him was supposed to be romantic?” Troy asks. “Like, you’ve cuddled with _ me _ when we watch movies.”

“It was different,” Brock says, because it _ was, _but he doesn’t know if he can explain that to Troy. Or, more importantly, to Elias, who might also know about Brock’s snuggly ways.

“How is he supposed to know that?” Troy demands. 

“Because he knows that I’m into guys!” Brock says. _ “You _ get, like, a free no homo card when we do that stuff.”

A look of confusion crosses Troy’s face.

“Uh,” he says, “are you _ sure _ he knows?”

“What?” Brock blinks. “Of course he—oh.” Brock remembers the night Petey had come out to him. More importantly, he remembers the fact that he hadn’t actually _ said anything _ in response to Petey’s admission. “Troy,” he says solemnly, “I have made a mistake.”

“Oh, and just so you know,” Troy says before Brock can go anywhere, “I overheard him asking Bo why you never seem to have girlfriends. So.” Troy looks at him smugly.

“This calls for more help than you can give me,” Brock informs him, then he pulls on his coat and boots and goes over to Bo’s. 

The door of the house is locked, but the car is in the driveway and Brock knows where the spare key is, so that’s not a problem for long. 

The _ problem _ comes when Brock enters the house, kicking off his boots, then realizes there’s another pair of shoes by the door still with slush on them. A very _ familiar _pair of shoes. 

Brock decides the time for subtlety is over. 

“Petey!” he yells. “I need to talk to you!”

“How the fuck did you get into my house,” Bo asks, appearing from a doorway off the main hallway. 

Brock tosses him the key. 

“And how did you know _ I _ was here?” Petey asks, leaning out from behind Bo. 

“Nobody has style like you do,” Brock says, pointing at the shoes. Then he turns to Bo again, leveling an accusatory glare his way. “And you—you double crosser.” Brock doesn’t know where to go from there, so he just shakes his head in dismay. Besides, Bo seems to know what he means. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re stupid,” Bo says. He shrugs. 

Petey’s looking between them with a lost expression on his face. 

“Bo, I’m going to need you to leave,” Brock says, still looking at Petey. 

“This _ is _my house,” Bo reminds him, but he clears out anyway, probably to hide upstairs.

Finally, Brock is alone with Petey. Petey looks nervous, but like he’s trying to hide it. He’s not doing a very good job. 

“Can you come closer?” Brock asks finally. “I feel like I’m going to be yelling if you stand so far away.” 

Petey steps closer until he’s out of the doorway and standing a couple feet in front of Brock. He crosses his arms defensively. 

“So, what—"

“I’m—I like guys,” Brock interrupts. 

Petey’s mouth is hanging open and Brock feels tempted to take his chin and close it for him. He doesn’t. 

“I thought you knew,” Brock adds, “but Troy said he didn't think you did, so I figured I’d better let you know.”

“Uh,” Elias says. He blinks a couple times. “You were—why were you talking about that with Troy?” 

“Because he’s the one I usually complain to about you,” Brock says unthinkingly, then feels like an _ idiot _ at the way Petey steps back, face pale.

“Oh,” Petey says miserably. He looks at the floor. Brock’s stomach twists at the way his chin wobbles a little.

“That’s not what I mean,” Brock says, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just—not very good at this.”

“Not very good at what,” Petey snaps and he sounds angry, but Brock knows him better than that, knows the anger is just a cover for the way he’s trying very hard not to cry. 

“Elias,” Brock says, trying his best to pronounce it Swedishly, “I like you. A lot. The reason I complain to Troy is because I keep trying to date you and you keep not realizing it, but I didn’t realize it was because you just thought I was straight the whole time, and, uh, I really want to hold your hand, like, all the time.” Brock snaps his mouth shut, realizing that he may have been rambling.

“Oh,” Petey says. He’s finally looking at Brock again, cheeks flushed. He doesn’t look upset anymore. He looks like he’s thinking hard, maybe everything Brock did starting to make sense in his mind. Petey rubs a hand over his face. “I’m so stupid,” Petey mumbles, still hiding his face.

“Hey, no,” Brock says gently. He steps closer to Petey and takes his hand, pulling it away from his face. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know.”

“I just thought you were being a good friend,” Petey says. He still looks pretty embarrassed.

“I thought you were trying to let me down gently by not making a move,” Brock tells him. 

“I wanted to kiss you when you tried to stop me from stealing your popcorn,” Petey blurts. “Um, sorry.”

Brock tightens his hand around Petey’s, not ready for him to step away yet.

“I mean,” Brock says, “same.” 

Petey’s eyes widen.

“Let me take you on a real date,” Brock says suddenly. “Like, somewhere dumb and fancy where I can hold your hand on the table and nobody will notice. Let me do it right this time.” 

Petey smiles helplessly, fingers finally twisting to tangle with Brock’s. 

“Yeah,” Petey says. “Yeah, okay, let’s do it.” 

* * *

“I had a good time tonight,” Brock says, smiling at Petey. 

“Me too,” Petey says. He’s leaning against his door, looking at Brock curiously. 

Brock figured that saying goodnight inside Petey’s apartment would save them from any unwanted attention, but now he’s kind of regretting that they’re not out in the open where he’s less tempted to jump Petey at any given time.

“Well,” Brock says, “goodnight.” He steps forward and gets a hand around the back of Petey’s neck, then pulls him down to kiss him softly. 

Petey makes a quiet noise, hands coming up to cup Brock’s cheeks. It’s their first kiss. It’s _ perfect. _

“Stay the night?” Petey murmurs after they part, face flushed. He bites his lip. Brock stares for a second. 

“Oh, baby,” Brock says, “don’t you know a gentleman only puts out after the third date?”

“Good thing this is technically our,” Petey pauses, counting in his head, “twenty-second date.”

“Twenty-third if you count the ice cream,” Brock corrects.

“Mhmm,” Petey says, looping his arms around the back of Brock’s neck and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay,” Brock says, “I’m convinced.”

Finally, Brock gets to experience the feeling of Petey tackling him onto a bed. It’s exactly as good as he imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked this!!
> 
> [tumblr](https://symphony7inamajor.tumblr.com)


End file.
